


Princesses and Happily Ever Afters

by Sosh_022



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Clextober20, Day 2: Witches & Wishes, F/F, Fluff, POV Second Person, lexa is a shy kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sosh_022/pseuds/Sosh_022
Summary: Lexa Woods falls for Clarke Griffin because of course she would.AU where Lexa has always had a thing for princesses and fairytales as a kid. Then she meets Clarke.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 15
Kudos: 172





	Princesses and Happily Ever Afters

**Author's Note:**

> year six is heavily inspired by that one clexa amortentia one shot. y'all know the one. 
> 
> (I couldn't find it, but if someone does, let me know! I want to credit the author.)

It only makes sense you fall for Clarke Griffin.

You were always in love with fairy tales and princesses as a child. You miss the times when your mother used to tuck you into bed at night and read you stories about pretty princesses with their perfect long blonde tresses that go down to their waist, beautiful flowing gowns that twirled prettily as they pranced about; their warm smiles with their even warmer hearts, and untouchable beauty beyond any other in the land.

You also loved the idea of true love. Of princes sweeping princesses off their feet. Of happily ever afters. And when you’re four years old, you can’t wait for your happy ever after. You pray every night for your prince charming to come take you away to live in a magical castle.

When your mother leaves you to go somewhere far away where you can never reach her again, you’re only six but you stop reading those fairytales. You refuse to listen when your father or your brother try to read them to you and bedtime stories stop being a thing.

The images of beautiful warm princesses however, stay with you in your dreams. And you still grasp onto the hope of a happily ever after.

When you’re ten, you’re a little older and it’s obvious you’re no princess.

You’re clumsy, always falling and hitting your knee against chairs or tables or anything really. And you like rolling in the dirt with your older brother and his friends. You don’t mind getting a little dirty.

Your hair is a bird’s nest. On a _good_ day. You don’t have luscious long blonde hair that catches the light in such a way that it shines, _making you shine_. Your hair is dark brown and unruly, the tips curling at the end in a way that tickled your neck. Your brother once called you a racoon and honestly, you couldn’t even be mad. The resemblance was kind of uncanny.

You kind of give up on your happily ever after because what kind of prince would want you? You’re no princess. Unlike the other kids, you don’t even have a mother to teach you how to dress prettily, or how to braid your hair. You only have your father and brother who both tell you to stay as far away from boys as possible. They are very adamant about it. So you stop hoping. Princesses aren’t real. Happily ever after’s aren’t real.

And then you’re eleven. And you find out you’re _magical._ Like, actually _magical._

You’re going to a place called _Hogwarts_. It’s a funny name and you wrinkle your nose at it when you first hear it. But as you press your face against the cool window pane staring at the castle in the distance aboard a train with a hundred of other kids like you, you realize you may not be a princess or have a prince, but you do get to live in a magical castle.

It’s only hours later when you realize princesses _are_ real.

Because you’re looking at one. Staring shamelessly, really. But you can’t help yourself. You’d thought princesses weren’t real - that they are as made up as mermaids or unicorns (both of which are very much real you find out later on) - so you can’t stop staring.

The headmistress calls out your princesses’s name and you almost miss it because your heart is beating so loudly. But you’re just able to catch it.

_Clarke Griffin._

You watch, entranced, as the girl, slim, blonde, and really insanely beautiful - like _woah_ , you really need to breathe, you should probably breathe - walks up to the hat. It belts out “SLYTHERIN” a minute later and you watch completely smitten as Clarke - _you mouth the name, feels the way the k clicks on your tongue_ \- glides across the room to sit gracefully among a sea of green robes.

Your name is called later and you’re sorted into Hufflepuff. You smile and greet your new housemates, but the entire dinner, your mind is on the princess you just saw because _wow,_ _they’re real._ They’re _actually_ real.

You end up sitting behind your princess during Transfigurations and you already know you’re going to be absolutely screwed in this class because you can’t stop staring at her golden tresses. It’s like someone captured the sunlight and put it in her hair. You bite your tongue to stop yourself from blurting something stupid like _“Does your hair glow in the dark? Does it have magical healing properties?”_

Once, halfway through a lecture, you catch yourself unconsciously reaching out to touch it. Thankfully, you catch yourself. Or rather, McGonagall catches you in the middle of your weird and creepy act and asks you to recite the spell that’s supposed to turn a match into a needle.

You fumble for an answer, and barely get it out, heaving a deep breath when you do. It’s only once McGonagall has turned away from you that you settle your attention back to the blonde in front of you and you see her side profile.

You _freeze_ because woah, her eyes are so pretty up close and woah, is she _looking_ at you? No way. Your eye contact lasts for only a split second because your princess is turning back around to pay attention to the lecture and you know you should too but you’re long gone. You don’t hear a single word that comes out of McGonagall’s mouth for the rest of the lecture. Honestly, it’s no different from the usual anyways.

You’re twelve and in your second year at Hogwarts when you realize that Clarke is a _literal princess_. Like actually.

Your Gryffindor friend, Anya, tells you all about your princess. Clarke is a _pureblood._ She’s a _Griffin,_ one of the only twenty-eight pureblood families left in Britain. You honestly have no idea what that all means but it seems to impress everyone else. And that’s when you realize that it’s not just you that treats her like a princess. Everyone else does too. And for the first time in your life, you feel the stinging burn of jealousy.

You’re in your third year and you’re sitting at a Quidditch match. It’s not your first one, no you’ve been to every single game since you stepped into this magic castle, but it is the first one that your best friend Anya is playing in.

It also happens to be the first game your princess is playing in too.

As you watch her fly, you’re reminded of the princesses your mother used to read to you about and you think of the long beautiful gowns that the princesses always wore. Clarke isn’t wearing a gown, but her robes still swirl around her beautifully and the wind blows through her hair in the way that renders you a little speechless and in awe.

And instantly, you’re a Slytherin fan. You cheer them in every one of their games, even the ones against Hufflepuff (though you’re more subtle about it).

You’re thirteen when you wish you were like Clarke, a princess.

You’re in your fourth year when you end up being Clarke’s potions partner. And normally, that would’ve been enough to make you useless but you actually like potions - are really good at it too - and there’s a fire inside of you that makes you want to show off to her. You want to show her that you’re also…. _something_ . You may not be as pretty as Clarke, or as graceful, or as rich, or as pure blooded, but you are _something_.

It pays off because you’re rewarded with one of those rare smiles that only a handful have ever seen and you nearly faint into your perfectly brewed potion. Thankfully, you don’t. You study extra hard for potions after that. And every time you two get a potion perfectly correct, you get to see that beautiful smile you love so much.

Other people in the school may call her a ‘princess’ with disdain, but you see the warmth in her, the warmth she hides behind a stoic facade. Her smiles are nothing but warm. You can’t believe no one else sees that. But you don’t mind either, because that means you don’t have to share as much.

You’re still in your fourth year when your princess starts talking to you. At first, it’s about potions and the difficult essays Professor Snape is known to assign. Next thing you know, she’s sliding into the empty chair next to yours in the library. She doesn’t say anything and only gives you a small nod which you return. You two study together for two hours before she gets up and leaves. (You on the other hand are stuck on the same paragraph for half an hour before you start to relax).

You originally think it is a one time thing - there weren’t any other available seats in the library at the time or your seat was the closest to the bathroom etc - but then it happens again. And again. And again. And each time, neither of you say anything and it’s not as awkward as you thought it would be. It’s actually kind of nice. You don’t think anything of it. You’re just study buddies you say to yourself.

But then Christmas comes and there’s an extra package next to your usual ones from your father, brother and Anya and- you’re officially blushing so hard your roommate, Luna, has to ask if you’re okay. You’re not. Not really. Because Clarke freaking Griffin has sent you a freaking Christmas present. And wow, you’re on cloud nine.

It’s just some new quills (you blush when you think she’s noticed you going through your quills like a pack of gum) and some chocolate frogs but it makes your heart warm all the same and you can’t stop smiling even if you tried. Happy Christmas indeed.

You send her a neck pillow the very next day, one that you spend most of Christmas day to find, because you can’t not return the favor and that girl can fall asleep anywhere and anytime and you just want her to be comfortable.

You hope it’s not lame.

But then winter break is over and the first time you see her again is when she’s slumped over her usual seat in the library, fast asleep with your- _her_ neck pillow around her neck. You can’t help but coo and wish that phones worked at Hogwarts because you _desperately need a picture._ Clarke is beyond adorable, even with the slight bit of drool coming out of her mouth. You happily wipe it away for her and deny to yourself over and over again as you slightly watch her sleep out of the corner of your eyes that you’re not creepy.

(You kind of are.)

You are fifteen and in your fifth year when you become a prefect. It is when you realize you don’t want to be Clarke Griffin. You never did. No, you’re not a princess and you know that.

You’re fifteen when you realize that you don't want to _be_ her, you want to _be with_ her. You maybe, kind of, probably, most definitely have a crush on her.

And it’s no big deal! Really!

(Except you kind of freak out about it.)

You find out in the weirdest way. One day, you look into a mirror and bam! It just hits you. You like Clarke Griffin. It helps that the mirror is the Mirror of Erised so yeah, you aren’t just looking at your reflection when you come to this realization. No, you are looking at you, your arms around a happy, smiling Clarke Griffin, who is kissing you on the cheek, and you - you look the happiest you’ve ever seen yourself.

So you stare. And stare. And stare.

For nearly a week straight, you don’t fail to come to the Room of Requirements to stare at the moving figures of you and Clarke, happy, together. Your princess.

But that week is all you allow yourself. You know it’s dangerous, to be obsessed with something that isn’t real.

At least not _yet._

And that’s the only thing pulling you away from the cursed mirror. You walk away from the Room of Requirement with the burning passion to make Clarke yours.

The next day you ask Clarke to accompany you to Hogsmeade this coming week. She says yes and leaves you wondering if you are dreaming or not because, _did she say yes?_

You pinch yourself. It’s real.

_It’s not a date. It’s not a date. It’s not a date. It’s not a date. It’s not a date. It’s not a date._

You repeat to yourself over and over.

But Clarke shows up, bundled up all cute in her furs and Slytherin scarf. You two go on a shopping spree at Zonko’s and share a butterbeer. Towards the end of your not date, she notices that you are cold and gives you her scarf and gently places your hand in her coat pocket, where she holds your hand, warming it up. And gosh, it is not just your hand that warms up. You’re scared about instantaneously combusting the whole walk back to the castle with how warm you’re suddenly feeling.

She bids you farewell by the Hufflepuff entrance and kisses you on the cheek. You almost do combust. Or melt into a puddle. You’re not sure which honestly. Because you’re just shocked.

_It’s not a date. It’s not a date. It’s not a date. It’s not a date. It’s not a date. It’s not a date._

“I had fun today.” Her voice is soft, warm and you like the way she speaks to you like you’re the only one that matters.

“Same,” you say kind of sheepishly. You’re beyond just out of your element. And you are awkward as hell. You honestly can’t even believe you two are kind of friends (you guys exchanged Christmas gifts so yes, you two _are_ friends.)

“Are you free Tuesday evening?” she suddenly asks and you tense.

“Yes,” you reply stiffly. Honestly, all you can hear is the pounding of your own heart. You hope she can’t hear it.

“Good. It’s another date then. See you,” she smiles and then walks away, her robes swishing behind her like elegant gowns and all you can do is stare and stare and… what?

(It’s a date.)

The princess has asked you out on a date. You don't sleep a wink that night, too busy replaying the day (date) with Clarke over and over again. You especially replay the last few moments of your date when she shyly but also confidently asked you out on a second date. You honestly _cannot_ wait. 

You’re fifteen when you start dating a princess.

And it’s _everything_ you’ve ever imagined and more.

You’re in your sixth year when you tell her you love her.

It comes out accidentally and it surprises the both of you. (You know you love her. You just didn’t mean to say it just then.)

It’s really not your fault. You wake up late because Clarke’s birthday is coming up and you spend all night thinking about what to get her, how happy she makes you, and just her in general. So really, if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Clarke’s.

But anyways, you wake up late, like terribly late, and you barge into Potions as fast as you can because you know Snape isn’t the most accommodating teacher though he’s not as bad as everyone makes him out to be. 

“Miss Woods,” Snape sneers at you as the door slams open. There’s a boiling cauldron set on his desk and a familiar scent lingers in the air, distracting you momentarily, but you can’t quite put a name to it. “Ten points from Hufflepuff for tardiness.” 

You hang your head low in embarrassment and try to scoot yourself to your seat as discreetly as possible when Snape speaks up again. 

  
“Since you’ve so graciously volunteered yourself, why don’t you come up here and tell everyone what you smell from this potion.” You know from Snape’s monotone drawl, it is not a suggestion. 

Shooting your _girlfriend_ \- the word still makes you giddy - a worried look, she smiles back encouragingly so you walk up to the cauldron and take a deep breath. 

The pleasant scent from before is stronger now and you realize what it reminds you of. 

You look across the room until your gaze locks with hers. “It smells like that perfume Clarke likes to wear. The Chanel one?” You scrunch your nose. “What potion is this?” 

Everyone stares at you then and you just blink owlishly. No one moves for a good few seconds, but everyone’s starting to smirk at you and you blush, embarrassed, wondering what stupid thing you just did. Surprisingly, it’s Snape who comes to the rescue.

“Miss Woods, you may take your seat.” He stares at you, blank, stoic. His tone is that of his usual monotone drawl. “Everyone else, get back to your potions. Amortentia requires the utmost concentration to brew. I expect nothing less than perfection, of course.”

You blush from your head to your toe, absolutely horrified at what he tells you. At what you just told everyone else. You brave a peek at your girlfriend and to your relief, she’s smiling at you. And she’s blushing too. That fact alone is enough to encourage you to take your seat right next to hers. That doesn’t mean you don’t avoid her face though. You’re too embarrassed to look at her again.

(You just told her you _love_ her for Merlin’s sake).

But suddenly she’s leaning into you and you instinctively take a sniff, inhaling the familiar perfume that she always wears and the scent you have come to love.

_(Love)_

“For what it’s worth…” She leans in closer, nuzzles the side of her nose into your cheek near your ear, and you lean in reflexively. “I smell your shampoo.”

Your eyes bulge open. Because. There’s no way. There’s just no way. You turn to look at her slowly. Your heart is threatening to pop out of your chest and fly away to Romania. Because. Because. Because.

Blue meets green. You nearly melt.

(She loves you too)

You’re seventeen and in your seventh and last year at Hogwarts. By wizarding society, you are a full grown adult.

But when you wake up, your body entangled with Clarke’s, and the sun is hitting the blonde’s sleepy face just right, giving her an angelic halo, you feel eleven again. You feel like the first time you ever set your eyes upon this gorgeous being. You feel fourteen again, when you and Clarke first became friends and gave each other Christmas gifts. You feel fifteen again, when you first found out you liked the blonde. Like a lot. You feel sixteen again, when you first told her you love her and she told you she loves you.

You feel like you’re six again, listening to your mother read you stories about pretty princesses with their perfect long blonde tresses that go down to their waist, beautiful flowing gowns that twirl prettily as they pranced about; their warm smiles with their even warmer hearts, and untouchable beauty beyond any other in the land.

You have found your princess. And you two are currently living in a magic castle. You have found your happily ever after.

It only makes sense you fall for Clarke Griffin. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
